


Over the Hill

by Aphelionite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, snowfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:24:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aphelionite/pseuds/Aphelionite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva's morning constitutional is rudely interrupted by a certain mischievous wizard...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Hill

**Author's Note:**

> It's short but hopefully sweet - enjoy! ;)

The snow had fallen all the previous night, covering Hogwarts with two feet of powdery drifts before winding down to the odd snowflake here and there. Minerva McGonagall had decided to take a walk to clear her head - before the students awoke and started wreaking bloody havoc. She breathed deeply, looking out over the pristine fields of white, the dusted trees, the mountains looming in the semi darkness until –

BAM!

She staggered, spluttering as she wiped snow out of her eyes so she could see who she was about to hex into infinity. 'Albus!'

'It wasn't me,' he said, hands behind his back.

She looked around and then back at him, 'I don't see anyone else!'

He looked around too, 'Rats. Oh well.' He revealed two more snowballs in his gloved hands and her eyes grew wide.

'Don't you—' she was cut off by another face full of snow which knocked her hat off. 'Albus Dumbledore, you've asked for it!' she shouted irately, scooping up and molding a snowball the size of his head. She levitated it into the air with a malevolent glint in her eye.

Albus held up his hands, 'Now don't you think that's a little excess—' THUMP. '—ive,' he finished, scraping the snow off his face and finding himself on the ground. To him it seemed that Minerva was laughing a little too hard as she struggled through the snow to help him up.

'Well you did start it,' she chuckled, holding out a gloved hand.

'That would be a fair assessment,' he nodded, taking her hand and pulling her headfirst into the snow next to him with a very unprofessional squeal. She responded to this by shoving a large handful of snow down the front of his robes. He looked up at her reproachfully. 'That was uncalled for. I'm an old man – are you trying to give me pneumonia?'

Minerva snorted, 'If you're an old man then I'm a monkey's uncle.'

'I can see the family resemblance…' he said, shivering as the snow began to melt and icy slush ran into the back of his robes. She threw him a dirty look but pulled out her wand and it was barely a moment before he felt warm and dry again.

'Better?'

'Much. Thank you,' he nodded, tucking his hands behind his head.

'What are you doing out here anyway?' she asked, laying back and staring up at the moody, lightening sky.

'Having an early morning constitutional. You?'

'The same. The grounds always look so beautiful at this time of year,' she sighed. 'So peaceful.'

'Why, Minerva, if I didn't know better I'd say you were getting positively sentimental in your—'

'Careful,' she warned.

'Autumnal years?' he hedged.

She sniffed, 'As nice a way as any of saying that I'm past it, I suppose.'

He turned his head to cast her a questioning look, 'Past what?'

'The prime of life, Albus,' she told him, as though any fool should have known as much.

'Codswallop.'

She arched an eyebrow at him, 'Oh really? You'd call me a spring chicken would you?'

'Since it is winter and you are no gallus domesticus I would have to say no. However,' he added when she looked to triumph at his response in the negative, 'neither would I say you are 'over the hill'.'

'Yes well I'm pretty much standing at the top, all I've got left's downhill.'

'Is there something on your mind?' he asked. 'And could that something possibly be your impending birthday?' Minerva had been exceedingly quiet on the subject so far, except, of course, to insist that there would be no fuss, no party and definitely no surprises.

'Eighty!' she all but shouted, spraying him with snow as she threw out her arms. 'When did I get so … old?' she asked, covering her face.

He waved an airy hand, 'That's nothing, I'm a hundred-and-forty-seven.' He shook his head incredulously, an amused smile playing on his lips. 'You haven't got a single grey hair – how can you possibly think of yourself as old?'

'It's different for men. Men live out their lives as trendy bachelors but women? Women become old spinsters.'

'I can't say I've ever been called 'trendy' before,' he pondered, not buying her antiquated stance for a moment.

She shot him a dirty look. 'Oh be quiet.'

'Just one more thing,' he said propping himself up on one elbow to look at her. 'And then I'll be as quiet as you wish.' She nodded, unable to do anything else when he was so close, fixing her with those remarkable blue eyes. 'You may think that you're old and over the hill and whatever else you want to call it but I know, without a doubt, that you are as beautiful today as you were fifty years ago. More so, to me.'

She stared at him for several long shocked moments, not entirely sure that he'd said what she thought she'd heard. She was about to say 'wuh?' when he kissed her, a gentle, tentative caress that was over almost before it began. She surreptitiously pinched herself in the leg. Nope - not dreaming.

Her lips quirked slightly as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, 'I thought I said I didn't want any birthday surprises.'

'My apologies,' he smiled and this time she raised her head to meet his.

BANG!

The enormous front doors burst open and several first years threw themselves headfirst into the deep snow. Albus and Minerva broke apart, jumping to their feet and obliterating their imprints from the crushed snow, both blushing furiously. Fortunately the students put their high colour down to the cold, rather than the fact that they'd almost been caught necking like teenagers and were now heading towards the headmasters office to 'warm up'.

The head of Gryffindor chuckled to herself as they lay, stretched out on the rug in front of the headmasters fire.

'What?' he asked curiously.

'I was just thinking,' she grinned, gently tugging his beard, 'I should turn eighty every year…'


End file.
